Field of Blood

and chattels of such murdered victims belong to the parish until they are claimed. These will go into the common fund.'
    Athelstan studied the corpse of the younger man. He was dressed only in chemise and leggings.
    'The shirt is of good linen,' Athelstan remarked. 'Leggings of blue kersey but where's his jerkin, his cloak, his boots and belt?'
    'Brother, I assure you,' Bladdersniff protested, 'and Pike and Watkin are my witnesses, that's how we found him.'
    Athelstan sat down on the steps and brought his hands together in prayer.
    'Oh my Lord!'
    He looked sharply to the left. Benedicta had come out of the cemetery and now stopped, mouth gaping, hands half-raised at this terrible sight. She walked forward like a dream wanderer, her dark hair peeping out from beneath the blue veil, her olive-skinned face pale. The beautiful dark eyes of the widow woman studied the three corpses.
    'You shouldn't be here, Benedicta,' Athelstan said.
    'No, no.'
    Benedicta came over and sat beside him on the steps. She pulled her brown cloak more firmly about her as if the sight of these corpses chilled her blood, blotted out the light and warmth of the sun. Athelstan caught a faint whiff of the perfume she wore, distilled herbs, sweet and light, a welcome contrast to the horrors before him. He felt her close beside him and drew strength from her warmth, her quiet support. He smiled to himself. For a moment he felt like a man being joined by his loving wife.
    'You shouldn't be here,' he repeated.
    'Brother, I feel the way you look.' She half-smiled.
    'Three corpses,' Athelstan explained. 'Found in the old miser's house in the fields at the end of the parish.' He pointed to the man with the crossbow bolt buried deep in his chest. 'He looks like a sailor or some wandering minstrel. The young woman? Pike thinks she may be a whore but this young man troubles me.'
    'Why?' Benedicta asked.
    'The other two appear to have been killed immediately: first the man by the crossbow bolt, then the young woman's throat was probably slit soon afterwards. She's light, rather thin. If the assassin was a man, she would pose no real problem. However, this other one.'
    Athelstan got up and crouched beside the cart. He carefully examined the young man's head and noticed how the hair was matted with blood, masking a blow to the back of the head.
    'Now, this victim was struck on the back of the head. He fell to the ground and his throat was cut: unlike the others, he's had his belt, jerkin, cloak and boots removed.'
    'A thief?'
    'But if it was a thief,' Athelstan continued, 'why didn't he steal the young woman's bracelet, or empty their purses?'
    'So?'
    'It's only a guess.'
    Athelstan paused as Pike abruptly lurched back into the alleyway to be sick.
    'He never did have much of a stomach,' Watkin growled. 'When Widow Trimplc's cat was crushed under a cart and its belly split…'
    'Yes, yes,' Athelstan interrupted, 'there's no need to continue, Watkin: Bonaventure might hear you.'
    'You were saying about the young man?' Bladdersniff asked.
    He looked longingly over his shoulder at the alleyway. The beadle wanted to head like an arrow direct to the Piebald and down as many blackjacks of ale as his belly could take.
    'I believe,' Athelstan continued, 'the assassin attacked this young man in that deserted house. He knocked him on the head, cut his throat and was busy stripping him of any identification when he was surprised by these two. The young woman was a whore, the other man was one of her customers. God forgive them, they both died in their sins.' He got to his feet, fished in his purse and thrust a coin into Bladdersniff's hands. 'The labourer is worthy of his hire, master bailiff. The bodies will stay here for twenty-four hours, yes?'
    Bladdersniff nodded.
    'Watkin! Pike!'
    The ditcher wandered back.
    'You will take turns guarding the corpse. Hig the pigman, Mugwort the bell clerk, can all stand vigil!' He thrust another silver piece into Bladdersniff's hand. 'Each man of the parish who stands guard will be bought two quarts of ale by our venerable bailiff.'
    Bladdersniff's red, chapped face glowed with pleasure. He blinked his bleary, water-filled eyes.
    'Why, Brother, that's very generous of you.'
    'On one condition,' Athelstan added sharply. 'When you stand guard you are sober. Now, Bladdersniff, show me where the corpses were found.'
    'I'll come with you,' Benedicta offered. She rose unsteadily to her feet.
    'I'd love your company.' Athelstan smiled,